Trouble with the Devil

The scent of freshly brewed coffee and warm cinnamon filled the air as Emery James wiped down the counter of The Perch, her cozy little café nestled in the heart of Willow Bay. The morning rush had just tapered off, leaving her a moment of rare silence. She loved these in-between moments- the quiet hum of the espresso machine, the faint sound of waves in the distance, and the certainty that she had built something truly hers.

She leaned against the counter, stretching out the tension in her shoulders. Business had been steady, and despite the occasional hiccup, The Perch had become a beloved spot in town. It was her safe place, her dream realized. Nothing and no one could take that away from her.

The jingling of the doorbell shattered the brief peace. She glanced up, expecting to see one of her regulars, maybe Mrs. Holloway with her usual chamomile tea order or Noah from the bookstore grabbing his afternoon pick-me-up.

Instead, a ghost from her past stepped through the door.

Desmond Proctor.

The air thickened, pressing down on her like an invisible weight. He stood there, tall and effortless in his confidence, dressed in a sharp navy suit that looked completely out of place in the relaxed, seaside town. The same piercing blue eyes, the same devastatingly perfect jawline. Years had passed, but time had done nothing to dull the effect he had on a room.

Emery gripped the counter, grounding herself. "You've got to be kidding me."

A slow, knowing smile spread across his face. "Hello to you too, Emery."

Heat pricked her skin, not from embarrassment, but from the sheer audacity of him standing here like they hadn't ended things in a tangled mess of silence and unspoken words. She hadn't seen Desmond since the night he walked away, since the moment she realized their friendship had never been as unbreakable as she once believed.

"You shouldn't be here," she said, forcing her voice to remain steady.

He took a step closer, sliding his hands into his pockets. "I was hoping we could talk."

"Talk?" A dry laugh escaped her lips. "Last time we talked, you disappeared without so much as a goodbye."

His jaw tensed, but his expression remained unreadable. "That's not exactly how it happened."

"No?" She folded her arms. "Then why don't you enlighten me?"

For a moment, silence stretched between them, thick with everything they hadn't said. Desmond had always been good at holding his cards close to his chest, but Emery wasn't the same girl who used to wait around, hoping he'd let her in.

He exhaled, shifting his weight. "I didn't come here to argue, Emery. I came to talk about the café."

The café.

The words sliced through her defenses like a blade. Her fingers tightened around the cloth in her hand. "What about it?"

"I own the building now."

The room tilted slightly, and for a second, she thought she might be hearing things. "Excuse me?"

Desmond ran a hand through his perfectly styled hair, looking almost apologetic. Almost. "I bought it from Mr. Larkwood last week."

Disbelief turned to something heavier, something close to panic. "That's not possible. He would have told me-"

"He was planning to, but the sale went through faster than expected."

The floor beneath her feet felt unsteady, her carefully built world suddenly teetering on the edge. The Perch was more than just a business; it was her home, her livelihood, the one thing she had fought to create on her own. And now, in the span of a few seconds, the man who had once shattered her heart had come back to do it all over again.

She took a steadying breath. "What does this mean for me?"

Desmond's gaze softened, but she refused to let it disarm her. "I don't want to shut you down, Emery."

"That's comforting," she said flatly. "Then what do you want?"

A flicker of hesitation crossed his face before he finally spoke. "I want to renovate the building. Bring in new businesses, modernize the space. But I don't want to push you out."

Her heart pounded against her ribs. "So what? You expect me to sit here and wait for you to decide my fate?"

"I expect us to figure it out together."

A bitter laugh escaped her lips. "You don't get to say 'together,' Desmond. You lost that right a long time ago."

His expression darkened, but he didn't argue. Tension stretched between them, the weight of old wounds pressing against the fragile present. Emery wanted to hate him, wanted to tell him to get the hell out and never come back. But this wasn't just about the past anymore-this was about her future, and she wasn't about to let Desmond Proctor take that away from her.

She squared her shoulders. "If you think I'm going to roll over and let you decide what happens to my café, you don't know me at all."

"I never said that." His voice was calm, infuriatingly so. "I want to find a solution that works for both of us."

She scoffed. "And if I don't want anything to do with your plans?"

A shadow crossed his face, but he didn't back down. "Then we have a problem."